Splinter Cell: Intentions
by Miss Licious
Summary: Sam attempts to rescue hostages in the U.S. Embassy in Libya.
1. Prologue

SPLINTER CELL: INTENTIONS

CHAPTER 1: PROLOGUE

March 29, 2008

U.S. Embassy

Tripoli, Libya

Jonathan Brooks of the Third Marine Defense Unit was tired, and was extremely nervous. The crowd of Libyan protestors were crowding even more, and the night was setting in. He prepared his night-vision goggles to see the protestors in the low-light conditions. He and his defense team had been out here since the afternoon, after the U.S. embassy leader Hal Eldridge called for immediate support after anti-American protestors crowded in the front gates of the U.S. embassy here in Tripoli, Libya. There had to be about five hundred of these Libyans, shouting anti-American chants, and burning British, U.S., and Russian flags. The Combat Applications Group, attached to the First Special Forces Operational Detachment, better known as Delta Force, had already blockaded a few streets that led adjacent on both sides to the embassy, and the clear road to the right.

Shots have been fired earlier today, but warning shots, none even aimed toward the protestors. But as the night was coming fast, the protestors got even more rowdy.

"Sergeant Brooks, we have about fifty protestors moving full speed for the embassy." It was Lance Corporal Alan Diaz's voice. He spoke urgently through Brooks' radio.

"Don't fire. Do not fire. Unless these protestors are packing heat, do not..." Brooks heard a barrage of gunfire. It sounds like an AK-47 due to the sharp sounds it emitted. Brooks moved his M16A1's sight to the source of the gunfire.

"Brooks! We're being shot at. Protestors are armed and are engaging, over!"

Brooks knew that if his men did not return fire, they would be shredded meat.

"Return fire! I repeat return fire!" Brooks yelled over his radio.

From a distance, he could see Delta operatives moving from their posts they blockaded away from the crowd. Brooks saw flashes from the embassy rooftops Marine sharpshooters were taking cover on. Brooks, who was in a nook in the southeast corner of the street, didn't see any protestors shooting, but he still heard the sharp clatters of gunfire from both the Kalashnikovs and the M16A1s. After five minutes of gunfire, Brooks could see a Black Hawk helicopter approach the embassy, maintaining a one hundred feet altitude. The door gunner fired 5.56x45mm rounds directly below the crowd. It was the most horrifying Brooks has ever seen. People after people after people were just being slaughtered, blood splattering, bodies collapsing. There was no mercy for the protestors who died a horrible death under the mercy of a young machine gunner.

But Brooks knew that the crowd was hostile, and any one of them could of wielded a weapon. The helicopter than proceeded to hover above the embassy, and three thick ropes dangled down from the chopper like snakes. He then saw his Marines climbing the ropes frantically, as Delta operatives on the roofs fired their assault rifles into the crowd. Brooks then realized that eighty-five percent of the protestors were armed with weapons are were actively firing at the helicopter. Smoke started to bellow from the chopper's hind propellor, the Marines on the ropes had enough strength to climb the rest of the way to the chopper.

"What the hell is going on out there? How many of us are dead?"

First he heard a blast of static then, "Ten of us, Sarge. We're coming back to get the dead, but for now, we have to evac the survivors. We already have reports of armed protestors infiltrating the embassy from the blockaded roads. We need you to remain in your position before we can get you out. Over and out." It was the voice of Lieutenant Jocelyn De La Tore, the female Marine in charge of the rapid-reaction force, which was the men and women in the helicopter.

As the night pressed on, Brooks can only hope he could survive the massive onslaught of the armed and dangerous terrorists, no longer protestors.


	2. Damnation and The day of Rescue

CHAPTER 2: DAMNATION AND THE DAY

March 31, 2008

African Area of Operations

Third Echelon Headquarters

90 KM North of Lake Victoria

Uganda

Angela Xuddur typed on her desktop office computer as fast as she could, trying to coordinate communications between Libyan Special Forces, and Egypt's counterterrorist unit, Unit 777. Just two days ago, the Third Echelon Headquarters here in Uganda got information about a large seizure that took place in Tripoli, Libya. Something about armed protestors, and terrorists were thrown in the mix, but she couldn't really grasp the situation, since the National Security Agency and the CIA didn't know either. The U.S. embassy was shown in every single cable news channel in TV. MSNBC, CNN, Fox News Network had the coverage of the siege of the U.S. embassy.

This reminded Angela of the 1979 Iranian siege of the U.S. embassy in Tehran, in which hostages were trapped in the embassy for 444 days. Operation Eagle Claw rescue by 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR) failed, with the death of eight servicemen. Angela did not want the same situation happening here, so she coordinated a few units of the Libyan Special Forces to conduct reconnaissance from about one hundred yards from the embassy, away from the news cameras. Angela had also connected to the Third Echelon Headquarters which was less than a mile away from her command post, which was heavily guarded by Ugandan security teams.

Sam Fisher looked at all the television monitors surrounding the small, concrete place. It was more like a bunker than any type of headquarters. It was a makeshift headquarters. It was used by the Ugandans in the 1970s, but after they abandoned it, the NSA took advantage of it. Every TV monitor was connected to different channels, all covering the U.S. embassy siege in Libya. Irving Lambert wasn't here, but William Redding, Fishers field runner, and Anna Grimstoddir, Fisher's eyes and ears, were in the room. Anna was fixated on what she was doing. She was relaying communications in an endless loop to Angela Xuddur, the NSA's inside woman, and to various special forces teams ready to move in and rescue the hostages. It wasn't clear to how many hostages are in the embassy, but probably a lot.

Fisher sat in a cushioned seat, watching satellite views of the embassy, and whole lot of other crap he didn't understand.

"U.S. president David Bowers says he won't negotiate with terrorists. It's American policy. But he's staying quiet about any rescue attempts. His administration is probably planning a covert operations against these terrorists." Anna said, chewing her bubble gum loudly.

"I just graduated from BUD/S when the Iranian siege happened. The Bowers Administration won't let something like this happen again. One quick operation equals no hostages killed, equals everybody goes home safely." Fisher said in a tired, groggy voice. He was getting tired. He hadn't slept in thirty-two hours. But he was a former Navy SEAL. He could last.

Fisher's cochlear mike beeped in his ear. The voice of Irving Lambert came through.

"Fisher, the NSA has just gave us the stand down order. We won't be doing any hostage rescues. Delta Force, Unit 777, and Libyan Special Forces will be conducting a rescue operation tomorrow night. It's been carefully planned and gone over probably a thousand times. It shouldn't fail."

"Good." Fisher said.

"Operation Damnation will be the first half of the rescue. Here, Delta will open a staging site inside Tripoli. "Operation Death Bowl will be the actual hostage rescue. We'll be on standby just in case anything happens. And if the operations fail, which they won't, the NSA had given us the go ahead to infiltrate the embassy, and secure the hostages alone."

"No problem." Fisher said, and the mike beeped off. But it was a problem. Fisher didn't specialize in hostage rescue. Period. His jobs over the past years was intelligence gathering, assassinations, and infiltrations. Nothing more. Nothing less. Hopefully, Sam would have back up if he had to go in there...


	3. Nighttime Silence

CHAPTER 3: NIGHTTIME SILENCE

April 1, 2008

One mile south of Tripoli

Libya

Daron "Tarok" James of Hammer squad of the Delta support team barked on his radio as the MH-53 Pave Low Special Ops helicopter swooped down the dark desert hills a few kilometers southeast of Tripoli. The team was almost there. When they land a mile south of Tripoli, they would prepare the MH-53, a shit load of land rovers, and lots of minesweeper helicopters that were already scrambling to get there faster than James' team. Libyan Special Forces, and Egyptian Unit 777 operators would execute the rescue, and Tarok's team, Rangers, Green Berets, and British SAS would provide close support.

The helicopter's nose swooped low, about fifty feet above the dark hills, and the M-60 gunner, Leon "Sasha" Ploce yelled a shout of excitement he was feeling. James felt excitement, and fear at the same time. As a long time Delta operator, all the missions he had conducted...Somalia, Sierra Leone...Nigeria, all were in the same scary demographic...Africa. The dark continent was scarred with hunger, plagues, and civil war, and Daron James had to feel, smell, and see all of it.

"Tarok, ETA, three minutes!" yelled the co-pilot, who was an experienced Nightstalker pilot, or the Special Operations Aviation Regiment. "Roger that" Tarok said. His squadmate's faces looked eerie in the internal blue illumination of the helicopter. All dressed in fatigues, wearing no helmets, just desert-colored bandanas, and M4 carbines, were pumped up. Even though they wouldn't see any combat, just staging an operation, they were ready to see some sort of action.

But the staging area, which was really nothing more than two dark hills interconnected from a makeshift bridge, had to be absolutely safe from any type of friendly fire incidents. The Libyan operators told JSOC (Joint Special Ops Command) that blue flares would mark the staging area, but it may attract the most deadliest enemy...the media. Hopefully, if cameras and reporters were on the scene, he wouldn't get his face caught in the flash of the cameras.

"ETA...we are already here." The pilot barked over the loud sound of the engine. Tarok could see in his peripheral vision the blue flares the Libyans talked about. They lined the desert hills in symmetrical precision, but there were no signs of life. Just rows and rows of unorganized dark objects, which were the land rovers, helicopters, and fast-assault vehicles. The flares spanned at least one kilometer, through the thick and thin of the hills. The MH-53 carefully landed in a small man-made clear area free of any thick desert sands. Ploce, Wilkes, Tim, and Tarok, along with the pilots, stepped out of the chopper. The area was dark, and the flares didn't provide much illumination.

The team moved slowly towards the staging area, and saw the plethora of land rovers, vehicles, and three choppers. A voice greeted the pilot and co-pilot, who moved quickly ahead of the Delta operatives.

"Hello, my name is Major Akurdet, Fifth Action Assault Team, Libyan Special Operations Command." It was a masculine voice. The man was about six feet high, but his face was unnoticeable due to the faint illumination. "I believe you are here to assist us in the staging of Operation Death Bowl. We have already prepared most of the stage area, just a few more craft to get cleaned and ready." The last two words the man spoke were drowned out by the sound of two MH-53 helicopters screamed overhead, and two HMH-465 Marine Corps helicopters moved in above the area, and disappeared in the night sky.

"What are Marine helicopters doing here?" Tarok asked.

"There is another staging area two kilometers east of here. They are also preparing for air support for the rescue." The major said. He looked at Tarok peculiarly and then the rest of his squad behind him.

"You must be Hammer squad. The JSOC told me to expect you here. You can pretty much safeguard the area, and if you see any press, fire warning shots, because we don't want them here." The Major said. Tarok nodded, and looked in the distance. He could see Libyan commandos in the prone position, with their assault rifles pointed toward the west. They blended in pretty well, using the desert ground as cover.

"We didn't tell you sir, but there is also an airstrip further down west. It will be utilized by the MH-53s for the entrance into Tripoli airspace. We move in, we move out. The operation will go smoothly." the Major said. Tarok hoped so too.


	4. Fear Of Dying

CHAPTER 4: FEAR OF DYING

April 2, 2008

U.S. Embassy

Tripoli, Libya

Fouad Zillah kept his walkie-talkie nearby, as his men kept their AK-47s pointed at the one hundred or so hostages in the large lobby section of the embassy. The takeover was a success. His men, dressed as protestors, were able to defeat the defending American soldiers, and successfully take three hundred hostages of the embassy, in exchange for the release of Sudanese Allah Freedom Fighter Arish Tazirbu. He had been jailed by the British infidels two weeks ago, and Fouad's team, called Allah's Voice, were assigned on a overt mission to infiltrate the embassy, and take hostages. If his team failed, which they didn't, he would be beheaded by his own commander. Allah's Voice had over ninety men, all patrolling around the embassy, and watching the hostages. Many of the hostages were civilian employees, and some were marines, sailors, and airmen.

One hundred hostages were in the large lobby, another one hundred were on the second floor large lobby, and another one hundred in a large gymnasium towards the back area of the embassy. If the Americans threatened to raid the embassy, Fouad said he would warn them first, and if they didn't back off, he would execute fifty hostages. Fouad made sure the hostages were well-fed, and kept a sanitized appearance. They were able to eat, sleep, and use the bathroom with no problems. Fouad's men locked down the whole building. They also installed remote-controlled C4 explosives in the upper floor offices, and windowed areas just in case enemy commandos would try to get in.

Fouad kept a constant link with his commanders through a walkie-talkie link. Because of the satellite wireless link field throughout the embassy, he was able to maintain communications from miles and miles away. Fouad was sitting at a receptionist desk, when a young woman came to him. She was blond, white, and wore a blue turtleneck sweater, and black jeans.

"Sir, I need to step outside. I need to see some sunlight." The woman's English was well articulated, and her blue eyes looked brighter when she was worried.

"No. You are not permitted to go outside. Now sit back down, now." Fouad had dark eyes, dark brown skin, straight hair, and a thick moustache. He was in his mid-forties and refused to step down from his service to the Great One, Allah.

"Please, sir. I need..."

"Oh, shut up. If I let you out, will you shut up?"

"Yes."

Fouad waved off the woman, but nodded to one of his men nearby to watch her carefully. She moved passed the hostages sitting on the floor, talking, eating, and sleeping, to a slide door which was situated to the west of the embassy. She could see the eerie empty roads, as she stepped out. The guard stood behind her, with his Kalashnikov trained on her. The woman reached her index finger, and pressed her ear three times, as if signaling. She then turned around, and in lighting-fast speed, she disarmed the guard, and used a French martial arts move called _coup de pied bas_, and dropped the man. She then swept the AK-47 away from the terrorist, and used some thick rope she had hid in her pants to tie his hands to the door. He was angry, and shocked at the same time, and tried to yell out, but the woman tied a gag around his mouth. The woman never had had a fear of dying, but this was the closest to it. The woman then saw the glint of light from a distance, and she made sure she slipped away from the embassy, and avoid the guards.


	5. Operation Death Bowl

CHAPTER 5: OPERATION DEATH BOWL

April 2, 2008

13:31 Hours

Tripoli, Libya

The inside woman, Nadia Florence, did her job really good. She signaled the Delta operator who was on top of a distant building, and alerted the Delta team, Hammer One, British SAS team, Hybrid Snake, and Libyan Special Forces team, Desert Slasher. Each team composed of thirty commandos, trained for operations of this sort. Operation Death Bowl. No sooner did Nadia signal the Delta operator, the Delta operator upload the coordinates of the embassy to a 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment Pave Low helicopter. This was a daytime operation, which meant the commandos couldn't rely on Lady Darkness, but had to rely on speed, and precision. The sleek, black-matted helicopter almost glided through the air. Three more helicopters tailed it, forming a triangular stance in the sky. Four more MH-53s were on their way, with the payload of commandos who would do the storming. The plan was to place each team in each of the three floors, surrender of kill the terrorists, and proceed to secure the perimeter, and safe extraction of the hostages. Hopefully it won't go wrong.

The scout Pave Low, flown by pilot Marcus Lake and copilot James McCash, swooped between the desert hills, and into the city of Tripoli. Their call sign was Scout One. It took approximately four minutes, flying nearly at full speed, to reach the city. The embassy was to the south, so more flying was near. The McCash rechecked the coordinates to the U.S. embassy. The terrorists had an advantage. The three large roads that led to the embassy served as a sort of choke point, a trap zone. If the commandos were in danger, the terrorists could surround the interconnected roads, and, like an anaconda, hold the commandos in a strong grip. But that was almost near-impossible because of the amount of air support the commandos had. In addition to that, a few SAS snipers would be posted in the distant buildings with high-powered rifles, with telescopic sights to down any terrorists gone astray.

War correspondents were also on the ground, but away from the embassy, but still in camera range of the entire operation. But hopefully, the journalists won't be stupid enough to find themselves in a crossfire. The Pave Low flew low amongst the city's empty streets, and buildings, until McCash could see the embassy from his cockpit radar. "Target building, three hundred yards, due north." McCash said. "Roger that. Scout Two, Scout Three, contact the Tact Team. We are ready for the operation." Lake instructed. When the Pave Low neared its mark, the pilots could see literally the front gates of the seemingly lifeless embassy. All of a sudden, in Lake's peripheral vision, he could see a streak of white smoke, and then he heard a loud _boom! _

All the pilots saw was a massive fireball, and Lake remembered McCash yelling into his radio. "Scout One has been hit, I repeat, Scout One has been hit by a explosive projectile." The Pave Low was in an uncontrolled tailspin, with black smoke and fire bellowing from its tail, and finally found its home on the ground. The sound of gunfire was also heard, as McCash and Lake, without thinking, loaded their M1911 pistols, disengaged their helmets, exited the downed helicopter, and ran for safety. Miraculously, the pilots were unhurt, but shaken. Scout Two and Scout Three, flew above the rooftop of the embassy, and showered the rooftop with fifty-caliber machine gun rounds. The hostage-takers on top dropped dead with a massive amount of blood and gore. The dust seemed to engulf the Scout Two and Scout Three, as it continued to fire rounds into the rooftop, assuring all the enemies were dead. A few minutes later, four MH-53s flew into the battle scene, and tried to undo the already-doomed mission. The plan was to deploy the commandos on the rooftop, but that was impossible due to the chaos amongst there. Instead, the MH-53s stopped short of the target location, snaked down long thick ropes, and British SAS commandos, and Delta operators rappelled down the ropes, and moved towards the embassy. The Pave Lows distracted the terrorists, as the Delta operators moved towards the first floor of the embassy.

The SAS followed. The terrorists stuck out the muzzles of their AK-47s out of the windows of the first floor, and fired at the soldiers. It took a matter of fifteen seconds before the Delta operators and the commandos were killed in a hail of gunfire, and hot blood. Another MH-53 flew into the battle scene, but moved to close to the rooftop. A terrorist concealing himself on the rooftop, who was unscathed by the gunfire, fired his RPG (rocket-propelled grenade launcher) at the chopper's belly. A massive fireball killed the terrorist, but also caused the MH-53 to drop on the rooftop, and explode five seconds later. The Pave Lows, Scout Two and Scout Three, were the only survivors, in addition to the unhurt pilots who hid. After ten minutes, the dust settled, and there was nothing but hot blood running through the sand, and pure carnage.


	6. President's Speech and a Second Rescue

CHAPTER 6: THE PRESIDENT'S SPEECH AND A SECOND RESCUE

April 5, 2008

Oval Office, White House

Washington D.C.

This morning was a solemn morning. President David Bowers was given the rundown on what happened about the rescue operation three days ago. Bowers was angry at the fact that a carefully-coordinated mission went down literally in a hail of gunfire. Eighty-five of the commandos were dead, and only five of them remained mortally wounded, but a chance of full recovery. Two helicopters crashed, and who knows how many hostages were killed. This mission would go down in history as a failed hostage-rescue, with ninety-five percent of the rescue team dead. This was the worst thing that happened to America since 9/11, and the Iranian Embassy Crisis in 1979. Today, Bowers would have to make a speech to the American public who watched the whole crisis in horror through the lens of war correspondents and cameramen who were only a hundred yards from the embassy. He would make the speech directly from the Oval Office in the White House. Bowers would give the details of the mission, how it was planned, and possibly why it failed. He would also talk about a second rescue mission.

The camera was in front of him had a small red light on the top of the hardware. It blinked from red to green, indicating he was on the air.

"Good morning America. I am giving this speech to you all patriots because of the issue that's been gnawing at us for three days now. On March 29, 2008, a massive group of Libyan protestors crowded in front of the U.S. embassy in Tripoli. U.S. Marines stationed there were given the order to keep them a considerable distance away from the embassy, to avoid injuries or deaths. Six hours later, Marines reported that protestors armed with assault rifles fired at Marines, and killed seven. The Marines were then extracted from the embassy. Some time between the gunfire, and the extraction, Islamic terrorists posing as the protestors infiltrated the embassy, and were able to gather three hundred employees, and military men and women. Then, more Islamic terrorists infiltrated the embassy, and nearly one hundred terrorists held the three hundred hostages. Fully armed and dangerous, they sent us threats, that they would kill the hostages unless we release a Sudanese militant who had been jailed by our FBI two weeks ago. We refused. It is American policy not to negotiate with terrorists. In early April, we, the United States Secret Service, Central Intelligence Agency, and covert units of the National Security Agency planned a full-scale rescue operation to get the hostages safely out of the embassy, and capture or kill the hostage-takers. The planning went smoothly, and on April 2, Operation Damnation was launched as a staging mission to prepare the air units, and special operation forces of Libya, United States, and United Kingdom. On the afternoon of April 3, the mission was launched. Operation Death Bowl. Three special operation helicopters, and two marine helicopters were sent into Tripoli. Enemy anti-craft missiles downed two helicopters. Pilots of the first downed helicopter survived. The troops onboard the first marine helicopter were killed. Troops in the second marine helicopter were killed, and never fired a shot. I am here to tell you, America, that we are in the planning of a second hostage rescue. This mission will go well. I promise that with my hand on the Holy Bible. This mission will go well, and the hostages will be rescued. And the perpetrators will be killed or captured. Thank you."

The speech was over, and David Bowers stood up to speak with one of the members of his administration. "Sir, we have the NSA on the line." the man said.

"Who is it?"

"It's Irving Lambert. Director of Third Echelon. He says he has a man ready to infiltrate the embassy, and get the hostages out."

"One man?"

"Yes, sir."

"God bless him."


	7. Return To The Shadows

CHAPTER 7: RETURNING TO THE SHADOWS

April 7, 2008

U.S. Embassy

Tripoli, Libya

Third Echelon's top operative, Sam Fisher, received a call from Irving Lambert at the Third Echelon Operating base in Uganda. Lambert had assigned him on the dangerous mission to infiltrate, and free over three hundred operatives inside the large base. Over one hundred Islamic terrorists overrunning the place. Damn. What in the hell did Sam get into? How was he going to accomplish this mission? Well, Sam Fisher didn't know. He was more of an improvisor. He improvises plans on the spot, doesn't plan ahead. Lambert also told him that a Russian military operating base, code-named _Iroquois_ based in Casablanca, Morroco, would send a crack team of FSB and Spetsnaz operators into Tripoli, and provide back-up for Sam.

Also, the inside woman, Nadia Florence, was still inside the embassy, quietly and constantly feeding the CIA and NSA coordinates via the satellite link that was surrounding the U.S. embassy. Sam Fisher laid down on the standard military cot inside the operating tent. Sam couldn't sleep. The sounds of humming and droning computers were keeping him up, yes, but the thought of him dying inside that embassy was tying a knot in the bowels of his gut. This reminded him of the Kalinatek operation he underwent back in 2002. Over ninety Russian mafiosos against one man. Well two men, counting the man named 'Ivan' he recalled trying to rescue. Sam Fisher's OPSAT data apparatus blinked on and off. It was an urgent message.

Sam reached down on the dark tent floor, and picked it up. It looked at the greenish-blue LCD screen. It was Colonel Vasnir Opalev, of the 1st Spetsnaz Operation Detachment—Hawk. Sam Fisher had met him before, back in 2006 during the Indonesian Civil War. Sam Fisher remembers the man as he was: tall man, green eyes, mid-forties, short hair, and a chronic cigar smoker. Sam clicked on the speaker.

"Yes, Colonel Opalev. Nice to hear your voice after two years." Sam's voice was a grunt, like always.

"Yes Mr. Fisher. Nice to hear you again. Listen, tomorrow night, we will set up post six hundred yards east of the U.S. embassy. We will have FSB snipers on the ground, and a team of Spetsnaz -1 troops covering you. If you find yourself in a little dilemma, call us, and we'll storm in."

"Roger that Opalev." Sam said.

"We also need you capture their leader, Fouad Zillah. If you can. If possible, capture him, try not to kill him. Okay?"

"Roger that, Opalev. He'll surrender once he sees my SC-120K." Sam Fisher said jokingly. Sam could hear Opalev sign off, and Sam sat his OPSAT back down on the damp ground of the tent. He laid back down on the cot, and closed his eyes, but felt someone was watching him. He hated that feeling. He was used to watching people, not people/someone watching him. He opened his eyes, and looked into the entrance of the tent. He saw a shadowy female figure silhouette, blending in opaquely into the shadows of the tent. The figure stepped in closer, and the face of Angela Xaddur, The Ugandan coordinator, appeared.

"Angela, can I help you?" Sam said. Angela reached into her jean pocket, and pulled out a small metallic ball. Sam could barely see it in the near-darkness of the tent, but after dozens of years of covert operations and hiding into the shadows, his eyes adjusted to darkness ten times faster than the average human. Sam watched the small metallic ball in Angela's brown hand.

"This is a special transmitter, it is subcutaneous. It will help us see you in real-time infrared reconnaissance satellite once you've entered the embassy. It will also help us keep track of you without the satellite." Angela's voice was soothing, much like that of a wise nurse. Anna Grimstoddir's voice was more upbeat, and commandeering, which Sam disliked. "I'm going to need to install this into your shoulder. Is that okay with you, Mr. Fisher?" Angela's dark eyes sparkled as she pulled out a small bottle of medicine, probably alcohol, and a small incision knife.

"Yes, of course. The sounds of the computers in the tent died down, and it was total silence. The only things that were heard was the dust settling in the shadows outside. Sam sat up in his cot, and Angela stepped to Sam, and lifted up the sleeve of his shirt. She took out a small cotton ball, and rubbed the alcohol on Sam's shoulder. Then, she used the incision knife, and slowly opened up a thin but deep slice into Sam's shoulder. Sam did not feel a thing, even though there was no amnesia applied to the incision. Well, there was probably pain, but Sam could not distinguish pain from pleasure anymore; he was too battle-hardened. Angela slipped the small metallic ball into Sam's shoulder. She then pulled out a small thin piece of string, and small surgical scissors, and stitched up the wound.

The whole thing took thirty seconds.

"All done, Mr. Fisher." She put everything back into her pocket, but threw away the incision knife and cotton ball into a small waste basket. Sam nodded, and laid back down. Angela turned to move out of the tent, but returned, and gave Sam Fisher a peck on the cheek.

"Good luck, Sam." She said.

Sam Fisher felt a strange feeling when she kissed him. It was a sudden rush of something he hadn't felt in a long time. "I'll be back safely, I promise." Sam said.


	8. Fire From Above

CHAPTER 8: FIRE FROM ABOVE

April 8, 2008

20,000 Feet Above Tripoli

Libya

The sleek, black-matted Osprey spy plane flew swiftly through the opaque, moonless sky. Sam Fisher sat down on a seat, preparing his parachute attachments on his shoulder. He had checked the 5.56x45-millimeter magazines for his SC pistol and his SCK-120 assault rifle. Fisher also made sure to reserve a flash/bang grenade and a airfoil round, just in case Fouad Zillah of Allah's Voice wouldn't surrender easily. Sam knew this mission was going to be tough, but it would ease over time, as Russian Army commandos take positions, and provide support for Sam. Sam looked up at the ceiling of the Osprey, and whispered a little prayer, before he was interrupted by Francis Coen, Third Echelon's field runner. She was a short, brunette woman, with a sort of a smooth face, very feminine. She wore fighter pilot clothing to withstand the G-forces applied to the Osprey.

"Remember, keep constant contact with Opalev. We'll be watching you closely via reconnaissance satellite." Coen's dark brown eyes looked Fisher up and down. "You seem apprehensive..."

"Yeah, I'm apprehensive. I have to rescue three hundred hostages from an Islamic madman, of course I'm apprehensive." Sam said. He remembered something. "Shit, I forgot my..." before Sam could finish, Coen drew out Sam's K-BAR Marine Corps combat knife.

Sam smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem," Coen said. The red light above turned green.

"That's your stop, Fish. Good luck." Coen saluted. Sam saluted back, and without saying a word, he disengaged the lever to the left of his thigh, and the seat pulled back, as a sliding opening below opened. Sam jumped from the Osprey, and flew through the thick, warm desert air.

Sam's free-fall was not so good. Lambert reviewed everything except for the intense wind turbulence up here. Sam flipped heel-over-heel in mid-air a few times in the last few seconds. Sam looked at his OPSAT, and clicked on his altimeter. He was at the altitude to coordinate his High Altitude High Opening technique. Sam pulled on the shoulder cords, and a loud _Whoop_ was heard as his chute blossomed. As he floated, Sam could not see the ground. The darkness was astounding. The silence was also eerie. There was no sound. Sam wondered if he went deaf for a while. After fifteen seconds, Sam could see the city below. Dimly lit buildings and dark streets lined the land below. There were no skyscrapers. Just mid-sized buildings, apartments, and streets. Sam was slowly getting closer to landing. He would land some five hundred yards east of the U.S. embassy, and would have to hit the rooftop first, and work his way down. Fouad Zillah had probably already took out hostages, so it would be ironically easier to move them out.

Sam finally landed with a soft punch of his boots against the desert floor. Sam used his K-BAR to cut the nylon cords from his shoulder, and smothered his parachute into a neat pile. Sam donned his night-vision goggles, and scanned the vast desert area around him. In the distance behind him, he could see dim building lights, but right in front of him, some three hundred yards away, he could faintly see the U.S. embassy.

Fouad Zillah kept a body count of the thirty-something hostages he ordered his men to kill. He should of killed that white woman, the coordinator of the failed American assault against his men and the embassy. But he didn't. He had a dream a few nights ago, and he had the instinctive feeling this woman had more information than what she was telling his men. He dreamed out being on a large snowy mountain, and voice telling him "Be careful." Zillah didn't know what that meant, but he knew it was probably Allah's angels telling him the Americans were trying again for a second assault. Fouad safeguarded ths threat by positioning a few more men on the rooftop, and more covering the outside area. Zillah drew on his cigar, and entered the small office on the second floor, which the white woman was being interrogated.

She was not in good shape. Blood leaked from her upper lip, and her right eye was swollen almost swollen shut. A tray of white rice was scattered all over the floor, and the cot at which she slept in was overturned. Zillah's men had been torturing her over a few days now, and she hadn't said one word, utter not a single cry of pain. Almost like she was pain-resistant. Zillah would make her talk. Zillah opened the door, and two of the interrogators were kicking her, but she just sat there, hands tied tight behind her back, with a distant stare. Zillah ordered his mean to leave him alone with her. The men stepped out, and Zillah closed the door. He sat down on a chair on the opposite corner of the room.

"You know, woman, it seem like torturing you isn't making you talk. We're not progressing. We need you to tell us what you know about that American assault, and how did you coordinate it." The woman just stared forward, her blood-streaked face not turning to face Fouad.

"Please woman. Speak. Speak to me." The woman slowly turned her head to Fouad, her blue eyes hidden but radiant behind that bloody face. "You'll kill me anyway." The woman said. Fouad pulled out his M-9 Barretta pistol from his thigh holster, and discharged the magazine. He did the same thing with his AK-74. He dropped the magazines onto the floor, the woman watched him. Zillah then sat the two unloaded weapons on the floor. "Young woman, I will not kill you." Fouad said, pointing at the weaponry to demonstrate he had no intentions of shooting her. "Please. Tell me what you know."

Fifteen seconds of silence elapsed until the woman spoke up. "There were snipers a few hundred yards from the embassy. I gave them a hand signal so they could alert the troops to the embassy." The woman talked very slow and her speech was slurred, hinting sleep deprivation, and extreme exhaustion. Fouad nodded.

"What's your name?" Fouad asked.

"Nadia." she replied.

"Listen, Nadia, you will not any longer. So..." Fouad was interrupted with by a burst of static on his walkie-talkie.

"Yes?" He said into his walkie talkie.

"Sir, we lost contact with our rooftop squad." One of his men said frantically through the radio. Fouad cursed under his breath, and moved out of the room. He looked back at Nadia, and proceeded.

The man was an idiot. Nadia had played him for a fool. Her sympathetic face, and her speech made the man feel sorry for her. What he should of done was take the weapons with him he left on the floor. Nadia simply untied herself from the rope on her hands, and moved towards the weapons. She picked up the AK-74, shoved the clip inside of it, and proceeded out of the room cautiously.


	9. Into The Pit

CHAPTER 9: INTO THE PIT

April 8, 2008

U.S. Embassy

Tripoli, Libya

Sam Fisher was able to reach the rooftop of the embassy, and eliminate the terrorists patrolling it. He systematically killed them off, slitting their throats with his K-BAR, and resorting to the shadows until the coast was clear. Sam listened on the dead terrorists' walkie talkies, but didn't understand a lick of what they were speaking. Probably some form of Prussian and Dari languages. Sam spotted an access way on the far side of the rooftop. The access way probably led to the embassy's basement area, which if he reached the basement area, he may be able to take out the terrorists silently, all with their backs to him. Sam's cochlear implant crackled.

"Sam, This is Grimstoddir. That access way your seeing leads to the lobby of the embassy. Stay away from there. Instead, go to the east side of the rooftop, and go down an access ladder. It leads to the embassy's power supply area. We'll lead you through the embassy. Remember, Russian forces are backing you up, and are ready to extract the hostages once you give them the word."

"Roger that, Grim." Sam followed the hacker's instructions, moving to the east, sliding down the ladder, and reaching the power supply area. A terrorist was pacing back and forth spitting orders into his walkie talkie. Sam, at the speed of a cheetah, slashed the man's throat. He then moved through the area until he reached an elevator. "Sam, take the elevator to the second floor." Grimstoddir said. Sam wasn't the conventional type of spy. Taking overt routes like an elevator would give away his position. Instead, Sam, darted to the left, and moved down a set of red-carpeted stairs. Sam could hear the angry and confused shouts of terrorists on the other side of the wall. Sam unshouldered his SCK-120 silenced assault rifle, and peeked from the wall. Sam was astonished to what he saw. The whole second-floor lobby was packed with hostages, sprawled on the floor, eating, sleeping, talking, and half of them afraid because of the terrorists' loud roaring.

Sam had to watch his fire, or he would end up accidentally striking hostages. Sam aimed through the targeting reticle on the rifle's sight, and pulled the four times in quick succession. The four terrorists that were arguing were down. Some of the hostages screamed because the terrorists dropped, but Sam hid back behind the wall. Sam typed on his OPSAT, and sent a message to Opalev.

Opalev was surrounded in a storm of dust. Over thirty fast-attack vehicles, and ten BLOODHOUND helicopters were lined up in columns. Opalev had over seventy Spetsnaz commandos at his hands, and was just waiting for Fisher's order to extract the hostages out. The Third Echelon rescue plan was for Fisher to systematically clear terrorists, and allow the rescue helicopters to get to the rooftops. The hostages had to move up to the rooftops to get extracted. Opalev's cell phone bleeped. Opalev reached into his commando pants pocket and pulled it out. He read the text: _Get the choppers on the rooftops. Extract one hundred hostages which are on second-floor lobby. Hurry. _

Nadia Florence had to resort to using her newly-found assault rifle. The assault rifle packed a powerful recoil, which caused her shoulder to ache more and more. She killed about fifteen terrorists, while she proceeded up to the second-floor lobby. She had not run into Fouad yet, in which she was grateful, because he would definitely kill her. She didn't know how to use the bulky, heavy weapon. All of her shots were lucky kill shots, and she knew it. The weapon's firing was set to semi-automatic, which reduced lots of sound. Florence did not smoke, but she could sure go for a cigarette right now, to calm her nerves. She turned around blind corners, taking out unsuspecting terrorists with shots to the neck and chest. She felt like a trigger-happy marathon runner. Nadia came to the elevator, but decided to take the stairs up to the second floor. While she moved up, she almost pulled her trigger, but stopped when she saw the man with night-vision goggles, and a suppressed assault rifle.

The two looked at each other for five seconds, but felt like five years. The man had green eyes, sweat-caked face, and looked calm. "I'm from the rescue team. The name is John Hiker, I'm with Delta Force." Sam lied. He had to, so he could protect his identity.

"I'm Nadia Florence, operations coordinator for Delta."

"Good. I'm here to extract the second-lobby hostages..." Sam's voice was drowned out by the sounds of helicopters storming above. "That's the rescue helicopters. Help me get these hostages to the rooftops." Sam said with a calm, but stern voice.

"Okay." Nadia said. Sam and Nadia moved side-by-side up the staircase, and into the large second-floor lobby. The hostages had smiles and had hope in their eyes, as Sam and Nadia were able to get them up to the rooftop. The hostages had to be taken to the helicopter in groups of twenty, to avoid overcrowding on rooftop. The rescue of the second-lobby took fifteen minutes, with no resistance. The four BLOODHOUND helicopters stormed off the rooftop, and disappeared into the night sky.

"Okay, now we have to move to the first floor. Listen, Nadia, I'm going to need you to stay here, and cover this floor." Sam's voice was stern. "Yes, sir." Nadia said. Sam looked at her AK-47.

"You do know how to use that thing, right?" Sam asked.

"Yes." Nadia simply said.

"Good girl. Cover this floor, I'll be back up here with the first-floor groups of hostages."

Sam took two staircases down until he reached the first floor. The embassy first smelled of air-conditioning, and recycled air, but now it smelled of gunpowder, and blood. Fisher scanned the lobby, and he could see the hostages. The problem was there were a few terrorists guarding the hostages, but Sam saw something very horrible. Red blinking lights lined the dark walls behind the hostages. The blinking lights weren't just any lights. They were carefully-wired NWZX-20 Motion Mines. Sam recognized them back in Tbilisi, Georgia used by Nikoladze's men. If the mines detected a swift movement, they would create a shocking explosion, creating a chain reaction, and destroying the embassy, killing everyone.

The five terrorists spoke to the hostages quietly, telling them in English not to move, or "they'll won't see the light of tomorrow." Sam recognized one of the five terrorists: Fouad Zillah. He was armed with only a combat knife, but he had a combat belt full of M60 grenades. The terrorists covered the corners of the room, and Sam had to stay into the shadows and not move, or he would be discovered.


	10. NervePoint

CHAPTER 10: NERVE-POINT

Nadia Florence killed more terrorists as they stormed up to the second floor to find out what was with all the sound of helicopters. After dropping three terrorists, she ran out of ammo. Now what was she going to do? Nadia heard more men moving up the stairs. She decided to move back to one of the men she killed to take his Kalashnikov, but felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. He touched the spot where she felt pain on her head, and saw dark-red blood on her hands. She felt another strike, this time against her back. She stumbled onto the floor, but she was able to turn around, and saw three terrorists began to carry her down the stairs. She lost consciousness at that point.

Sam Fisher, still hiding in the shadows, planned on how to kill the terrorists, capture Fouad, and destroy the motion-sensitive mines all nearly at the same time. Fisher noticed movement to the far right of the lobby, and saw three terrorists carrying Nadia. They dropped her onto a chair, and tied her hands around her back. The poor young woman was unconscious. Fisher watched the terrorist leader move towards the terrorists that escorted her. He exchanged a few words in Dari language, and the terrorists moved back up the staircase to the second floor. Fouad returned to his post, watching the terrorists carefully. Another terrorist left his post, and moved to the other side of the room. He stood next to the unconscious Nadia, making sure that when she wakes up, she won't run. Fisher watched Fouad motion the terrorist, and the terrorist nodded, and dimmed the lights. Bad move. Sam could use the darkness as a tool. He could take out the terrorist, distract Fouad, and capture him, all at once.

Fisher moved slowly to the terrorist, until Sam was right next to him. The terrorist didn't know what hit him. Sam punched the man so hard, he could hear the man's nose break. The terrorist fell back against the wall, creating a loud thud. Fouad looked into the dim room, and saw Sam faintly. Fisher flipped the switch, and brightened the room back to its full luminescence. Fisher pointed his SC-20 pistol at Fouad Zillah. The other terrorists in the room pointed their AK-47s at Sam Fisher. Classical Mexican Standoff. Fouad stepped forward, and smiled.

"You must be the rescue team. Just one man?" Fouad said in a thick Middle Eastern accent.

"No, there's about seventy other guys outside waiting. You and your little squad of troops should surrender." Fisher said.

The hostages in the lobby were all watching the unfolding scenario, like watching a movie in a theater.

"No. I shall not surrender. Allah's Voice shall not surrender!" Fouad motioned one of his terrorists to shoot Fisher, but Fisher took him down with a few quick shots.

Fouad's face was angry.

"Mr. Zillah, I can take out all of your men at the speed of three seconds. You and your boys should really..." Fisher's voice was interrupted when he felt a sharp stab into his shoulder. Fisher collapsed and blacked out.

Back at Uganda, Angela Xaddur, and the rest of the Third Echelon team tried to figure out what happened to Fisher. The reconnaissance satellite shut down due to a power outage a few hours ago, but an hour elapsed, and Fisher did not speak, nor he was not responding to his OPSAT texts. Lambert feared Fisher may have been killed, but reconsidered that. Since he's known Fisher he has always survived, even if he should of been killed. Just a few minutes ago, Lambert radioed Colonel Vasnir Opalev, and ordered him to move his troops into the embassy ASAP. Opalev agreed, and is currently moving troops into the embassy.

Fisher had woken up from his unconsciousness. But he was being shaken frantically by someone. Fisher could feel his body violently moving, his head was in pain so much. When Fisher's eyes focused, he discovered Nadia was shaking him, and shouting at him. The room they were occupied was dim, but he knew it was Nadia's face.

"Please, Mr. Hiker, get up. Please! Wake up, get the fuck up!" The woman exclaimed.

"I'm up, I'm awake. What's going on?"

"We're locked inside a small closet. They've put something in here, and I don't know what is. It's beeping every five seconds." Fisher turned around, and saw the opaque outline of an object on the wall. Fisher immediately knew what it was: a claymore.

"It's a bomb. I've got to disarm it." Fisher felt for his K-BAR, but he felt nothing. In fact, he did not feel anything. He didn't feel his night-vision goggles on his head, nor did he feel any of his weapons. They've confiscated his tools.

"Shit. I need something sharp. You've got anything sharp? Anything pointy?" Nadia felt around her pockets, and paused when she felt something in her pocket. She pulled it out. It was a small brown hair clip.

"Is this good enough?" Nadia asked, presenting him the clip.

"Yeah." Sam stood up and went to the Claymore. Fisher remembered that a Claymore had three main wires than connected to the fuse, detonator, and detonator fluid. The detonator was the key part of the bomb, so Fisher had to "scoop" out the center wire, which connected to the detonator. Fisher used the hair clip to locate the middle wire, to "scoop" it out of the Claymore itself. It took Sam fifteen seconds to disarm the bomb.

"Got it. Bomb is off." Fisher said. Nadia reached over to Sam, and hugged him. Fisher felt that feeling again, the same feeling he got from Angela hugging him. It was a weird feeling.

"You're a hero. Now get us out of here." Nadia said trying the doorknob.

"No. Forget the door." Fisher moved to the other side of the closet, and reached up to the ceiling. He opened a grate, which led to the ventilation shaft. "Up here. We can go. You go up first, I'll follow behind." Fisher said. Nadia cautiously moved up to the shaft, Fisher hoisted her up until she was inside the shaft. Fisher followed behind.

Vasnir Opalev and his squad of seventy Spetsnaz commandos swiftly infiltrated the embassy, reaching and securing the first upper floors. The first floor was tough to secure. It took twenty minutes to flush out the terrorists, and eliminate them. The Spetsnaz were armed with silenced submachine guns, so it was easy to get away with killing, and not frightening the hostages. The motion-sensitive mines were destroyed, and hostages secure, but there was no sign of Fouad Zillah. There was also no sign of Sam Fisher, or the inside woman.


	11. Stand Off

CHAPTER 11: STANDOFF

April 8, 2008

U.S. Embassy

Tripoli, Libya

Sam Fisher and Nadia Florence worked their way through the ventilation shaft, and exited on the other side of the lobby. The loud sound of rescue helicopters and boots slamming into the ground in a parading fashion told Fisher the Spetsnaz back-up team arrived to assist them. Fisher and Nadia moved through the lobby, until they reached the area where the hostages were once at. They were gone. Safely evacuated. Fisher now had to capture Fouad, and he had to also get Nadia to safety, because her work here was done.

Fisher spotted Vasnir Opalev, equipped with a MP-IKMS-72, Kalashnikov-variant assault rifle, and a flash light under the barrel, to help him see through the grey clouds of gunpowder, and dimness of the lobby.

"Colonel!" Fisher said towards Opalev. Opalev turned around, and smiled, disengaging his flashlight from his barrel, and shining it in Sam's and Nadia's face.

"Oh man. I though you two were dead. We can't find Zillah anywhere. We think he may have escaped to the rooftop, but we haven't checked up there yet. We've got the hostages out of here, and checked for anymore. The embassy is clear."

"Good. I'll head for the rooftop. I'll see if I can find and capture Zillah."

Opalev looked at Sam's body.

"Where is your equipment?" The colonel asked.

"It's confiscated. I don't need it." Sam said. He looked at Nadia.

"Nadia, go with this man. He'll hold you in safety until we can settle this mission." Fisher said.

Nadia simply nodded, and Vasnir walked Nadia down the staircase. Fisher wiped his tired eyes, and began to proceed up to the rooftop. Once he was up there, he saw no one. It was empty and barren, just like the open desert. Fisher walked deeper, until he reached the center of the rooftop. He looked around once more, and suddenly felt a sharp stinging pain lash across his back.

April 8, 2008

NSA Temporary Base

9 Kilometers West of Uganda

Irving Lambert drank his coffee, as he watched the monitors on the screen. The monitors lit the whole small room, like a candle would do to a small closet. There were a total of twelve monitors. The first six, to the left of the panoramic wall, portrayed various cable news networks like CNN, MSNBC, Fox News Channel, and NBC. They all covered the operation conducted at the embassy in Tripoli. Of course, the cameras were far from the actual area of operations. For example, a reporter on MSNBC was at the Russian military base,_ Iroquois, _interviewing a commander there. The other correspondents were miles from the mission. Lambert turned his head to watch Anna Grimstoddir typing on her desktop computer, refreshing infrared reconnaissance satellite pictures. Every ninety-six seconds, a new picture showed up on the screen of her desktop computer.

The satellite recorded Sam's every move. Right now, it seemed Sam was fighting with another person. It was exactly clear to where he was since the satellite was infrared, but Sam had been in a fist-battle for the past three minutes. Lambert wasn't concerned for Sam because he was skillful, and can pretty much survive anything. Lambert was worried about the hostages, which were safely in the custody of the Spetsnaz. Which was a load off of his chest.

April 8, 2008

Two Hours Until Sunrise

Tripoli, Libya

Sam had been fighting Fouad for ten minutes now. Sam was amazed at the speed, and precision the man was using to fight. He was armed with a butterfly pocket knife, and only managed to slash Sam once in the back. Sam avoided the man's feints and vertical/horizontal slash movements, and was able to squeeze in a few hits upon Fouad. Fisher could tell the man was losing speed, and strength. The two hadn't said a word, just fighting. An old-fashioned gladiatorial fight.

When the man lunged at Sam's stomach, Fisher moved out of the way of the moving knife, and was able to disarm him, and knock him to the ground.

"How's that for an unfair advantage?" Sam said, kicking the knife away from Fouad's hand.

"Ah, you American." Fouad grunted and stood up. Fouad tried to swing at Fisher, but he simply moved from the path of the moving fist, and counterattack with a knee-blow to the ribs. Fouad groped at his right ribcage, and grunted. He stepped back to catch his breath.

"Listen, Fouad. You should just give up. You're not going to win."

"Allah's men never lose..." Fouad came back into the fighting stance position, and feinted with his left fist, and ended up striking Sam's left temple with his right. Sam fell back. The blow was dizzying. Sam could hear Fouad laugh, and was about to finish Sam off with a finish stomp to the stomach, but Sam swung his body away from Fouad's moving boot, and kicked Fouad in the back. Fouad grunted, and crashed to the ground. Fisher then stood up, and was going to give Fouad a good KO, but he suddenly heard a loud report from a pistol, and felt a numb impact against his shoulder.

Fouad had pulled out a Barretta from the back of his pants, and shot Sam. The American stumbled back, and fell to the ground. He knew he had hit the American right in the chest. Fouad said a silent prayer to Allah, and stood up. He looked at the dead American, shook his head, and walked towards the ladder that led back to the lobby floor.

Sam opened his eyes, and looked at Fouad moving back down the ladder. The "play dead" plan worked. But Sam's shoulder was numb, as if the bullet had hit a vital nerve. But he still had to capture Fouad. But Sam wasn't going to capture him...he is going to make sure he's dead...


	12. Martyrdom

CHAPTER 12: MARTYR

April 9, 2008

5:26 AM

U.S. Embassy

Tripoli, Libya

Fouad was inside the power supply area. He was trying to radio a helicopter from Yemen to come evacuate him. Fouad felt he shouldn't though. The reason for this was because all of his men were killed, and he had failed his mission. He already let down Allah, and he did not want to die a dishonorable death from the sword of his superior. So instead, he would rather die another way. Suicide, hell no. But he didn't want to die a dishonorable man. He wanted to die at least a dishonorable martyr. Fouad decided not to radio the helicopter, but instead wait for enemy troops to move into the embassy once more, and have a gunfight with them, and hopefully die that way.

Fouad didn't have time to move out of the room, for a dark figure stepped up to him, and struck him in the face.

"Back from the dead." The man said.

"I thought I had killed you." Fouad said, wiping his mouth.

"Nope." The man kicked the man in the stomach. Fouad grunted once more, and attempted to pull out his Baretta. Sam saw the shiny metal glint, and kicked it away from the holster. Fouad grunted, and Sam put a boot on Fouad's neck, as he reached down to pick up the pistol.

"Where do you want the bullet? Head or chest?" Sam said with a hint of anger.

"I'd rather have it in my chest. I'll die faster, and I'll die a good martyr. So go ahead, the chest." Fouad said with a hint of religious proudness in his voice. Fisher didn't hesitate in firing a shot into Fouad's chest. The man uttered on last grunt, and his head sort of slumped over to the side. Sam knew ultimately Fouad won the real battle, becoming a martyr, but Sam won the ultimate Earthly battle, in which he rescued the hostages, defeated the terrorists, and eliminated the leader of Allah's Voice.

April 9 2008

NSA Temporary Base

Uganda

Lambert just got off the horn with Vasnir Opalev, and Lambert wanted him to swing a chopper by to pick Sam up. Opalev said that he couldn't get a chopper scrambled due to an intense sand storm, so Lambert had to put trust into Francis Coen to get the Osprey, and pick up Sam. The two pilots, Lt. Hamburg Wessly, and Coen were gearing up the radios, and readying up for take off.

In a few minutes, the Osprey was in the air, although flying at a lower altitude which it usually flew. The extraction was just to pick up Fisher. Nadia Florence, operations coordinator, was safe in the hands of the Russian military, and pretty soon, she will be reunited with her family at the United States.

"Alright, everything seems to be going as planned. Everything is checked, and we are fifteen miles from Tripoli." Hamburg said.

"Roger that." Coen said. The pilots flew for at least half an hour, not saying a word, and all the sound that was made was just the sound of the plane's engine droning.

"Here we go." Coen said as they saw the embassy from the cockpit's horizon. She decelerated, and turned the nose of the Osprey down a bit. She could see the embassy, but decided to land just a few hundred yards behind it. Sam could walk to the plane. When the Osprey was close enough, the pilots slowly landed the aircraft as it banked against the desert floor. Soon, it came to a screeching halt.

"Alright, we have successfully landed. Lets get our man out of there." Hamburg said.

In the meantime, Nadia Florence was getting her wounds treated by a young Russian female doctor. She took the time and energy in stitching up deep cuts, treating her swollen eye, and wiping the blood and grit from her face. The doctor spoke with compassion, and really cared for the girl, and respected her duty at which she served to the fullest extent. The girl kept asking for water, and she was very exhausted. Her speech was slow, and she was going in and out of consciousness. So the doctor just laid her down to rest on the hospital bed inside the small medical bay.

Fisher had to walk three hundred yards to the landed Osprey. With a fucked-up shoulder, and a tired body, he didn't feel like walking all that way, and felt he might collapse. The sun was rising up, and the dark sky was turning into a violet blue color. Fisher had realized that the whole mission was all night. All in one night. Fisher's missions in the past seemed to be much quicker than this. Fisher wasn't used to rescuing hostages. His missions were usually infiltrating enemy bases, and capturing or killing an important employee, or crazed political Waco. Fisher could see Coen and the other pilot, run to Fisher to his aid.

"Fish, you gonna be okay?" Coen asked.

"I'll be fine. Let's just get to the Osprey. I'm going to need some water, and something fresh to eat." Sam said.


End file.
